


Dark is the Night

by Thrilmalia



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Happy Ending, Harry is charming and cocky, Implied Canon-Typical Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Inspired by Elton John's Nikita, M/M, Merlin is shy and very in love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Unrequited Love, Young Harry, Young Merlin (Kingsman)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:34:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thrilmalia/pseuds/Thrilmalia
Summary: The young Galahad is charming, handsome, and intelligent, and painfully unaware of Hamish's existence. Or so he thinks, until he's appointed Merlin and Harry comes to congratulate him, which turns into more. But still the man isn't fully his, until he realizes that the song he played for him was more than just entertainment.
Relationships: Harry Hart | Galahad/Merlin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 33





	Dark is the Night

**Author's Note:**

> A lucky coincidence made Mark Bernes' "Dark is the Night" play right after I heard Elton John's Nikita for the 100th time and since I had little to do otherwise, I wrote it in one go during a sleepless night in hospital.  
> If you know Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, think of Harry and Merlin as 'reborn' versions of Bill Haydon and Jim Prideaux, which might or might not be the reason why Harry is associated with everything Russian. I quite like the idea of star crossed lovers being reborn to be on the same side. 
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy this piece!

The first time he saw him, he was a trainee, fresh out of university, new in an organisation so old. Although the other man clearly stood out as the youngest of the knights, he looked as comfortable with it as Hamish felt anxious. No, Galahad was at ease in his position, the youngest knight Kingsman had ever had, and Hamish was Merlin's new assistant, hired for his brilliant mind and nothing else. Not that he had much else to offer, he had barely passed the physical test, and he wasn't anywhere near handsome. He was the polar opposite of Galahad – handsome, charming, Galahad - and every time the young knight passed him on his way to get a new weapon or other toy he would likely just blow up with no regard for the time and effort and money that went into creating it, he was reminded of that. It could be infuriating at times, but then he always returned with what could be counted as an apologetic grin aimed at Merlin and the assistants there, and all would be forgiven. Most likely, though, he didn't even know that Hamish existed in the first place, and that was the most infuriating thing of all.

It all changed one day, the day the old Merlin retired and put the burden of that position on Hamish's young shoulders. It wasn't one he couldn't handle, especially because his lanky form had broadened with training, both physically and mentally, but he couldn't have been prepared for how everyone's behaviour towards him changed. It seemed like the knights finally noticed him, even if they didn't quite respect him yet. _That will come in time_ , old Merlin told him while patting his shoulder before he headed off to have his drink with Arthur in a corner. They were having a party in Merlin's honour, both to celebrate the retirement and the new appointment, and it was at this party that Galahad finally _saw_ him.

They were on opposite sides of the room, Hamish doing his best to disappear against the wall as was his habit, and the young knight leaning against the bar next to a few secretaries. Judging by their rosy cheeks and sheepish giggles - they were older than Harry, mind - he was flirting the knickers off each of them at the same time, before his eyes swept across the room, gesturing hand stopping mid-air when he noticed Merlin, the new one. The intense stare sent a shiver down his spine, and he awkwardly looked away, glancing around himself to see if maybe there was another pretty secretary Harry had meant to look at, but there was no one. But Hamish was determined to ignore the knight, not wanting to add to his already enormous ego, and he was afraid his secret would be found out if he looked for a second longer. Galahad was trained in finding people's secrets even when they tried to hide them, after all.

"Harry Hart." Merlin flinched at the sudden voice, looking towards its source, and found that the young knight had moved across the room to him after topping off his drink.

"I thought we're not supposed to use our real names while at work," Hamish said, glancing around again just to be sure Galahad - Harry - was talking to him.

"Well, you don't have to tell me yours. Merlin," he said with a grin, offering his hand, "Congratulations on the promotion. I knew my money was safe set on you."

Hamish raised an eyebrow, not sure what he should be more surprised about. That Harry had noticed him before this night, or that there had been a betting pool. Considering the general English willingness to bet, definitely the first. Why would Harry notice him? He was everything Hamish wasn't, charming, a social butterfly, handsome, with full hair and boyish eyes, sure to catch everyone's attention. Hamish's best skill after his knowledge with technology was to disappear in a crowd.

This was getting ridiculous quickly, and with his new knowledge of Harry's betting tendencies, Hamish sighed.

"What do you want?" He asked, and Harry lit up like he'd just been waiting for that question.

"Dance with me," he asked, holding out his hand again, that charming smile on his face, and Hamish frowned.

"No."

"Why not? Are you afraid I'll embarrass you? I'm a good dancer, give me a chance."

"But I'm not. Go ask one of the girls for a dance."

Harry looked at Hamish for a moment, and the man thought he saw something like disappointment flicker over his face, but then he gave a curt nod and emptied his glass with a murmur of "cheers", before heading back towards the bar. And with that, he'd lost his chance with the most wonderful man he'd ever seen, Hamish thought. He lingered a little longer at the party, watching the girls - and even some wives of older agents - take turns dancing with Harry. By the end of the night, there probably wouldn't be a single woman at Kingsman Harry hadn't danced with. Hamish washed the bitter thought down with a glass of scotch, then snuck away from the party to pack his things and head home.

Just as he reached for his coat on the hanger, without looking because it always hung in the same spot since he first started working here, he stopped, as the coat was suddenly gone. Apparently the confused frown and look around the office was very amusing because he heard a laugh from the doorway, where Harry was leaning, Hamish's coat hung over his arm. With his boyish charms, sometimes going as far as seeming naive, it was easy to forget that he was a perfectly trained spy.

"It's not very polite to leave without saying goodbye," the knight said, then wandered into the office and around Hamish to help him into the coat, which he accepted with a disgruntled look.

"What do you want?" He asked again, and again Harry grinned at him.

"Dance with me," he answered as before, holding out his hand.

"Still not a dancer," Hamish told him with a shake of his head, pulling the hat from the coat pocket and hiding his thinning hair under it.

"What about a drinker, then? Have a drink with me," Harry asked, confusingly insistent on spending time with Hamish.

"Why?" He asked with a frustrated sigh, then decided he didn't care and picked up his bag.

"Because I want to know more about you. Oh please, don't make me beg for a moment of your time."

"What if I do?" Hamish snapped, because he was honestly getting sick of this play, but when he looked at Harry he seemed taken aback for a moment, though it only lasted a second before a smirk crept onto his face.

"Then I hope it's worth it," Harry said, and the madman really sunk to his knees, "Please, Merlin. Sir? Give me a moment of your time."

Hamish was very glad that the coat was long enough to hide the effect that sight had on him, and he instinctively took a step back as Harry's warm hands reached for his knee.

"You're an idiot, Galahad," Hamish said, shaking his head, but it only seemed to encourage the idiot further.

"Harry. And I know I am. Opposites attract, right? A genius like you should be able to figure out what that means for us. Give me a chance. Just this once."

Maybe he had a point, or maybe his puppy eyes got the better of Hamish, but either way he sighed and gave up resistance.

"One chance," he told him, holding up a finger as if to scold him, and Harry's grin widened as he got off the floor and stood, reaching for Merlin's hand.

"I know a nice place, come along."

There was no way out for him now, so Merlin just followed, letting Harry drag him along by the sleeve of his coat, away from the party, to his surprise, upstairs towards the more representative parts of the mansion. They ended up in front of a door that Harry opened with a key, revealing a small but comfortable suite behind it, with a balcony and a big bed, all in the old fashioned style of the whole mansion.

"What's this?" Hamish asked as he put his bag down on the chair by the desk, looking around as Harry fumbled through a box of records.

"The Galahad suite. Every knight has one, as does Merlin. Please excuse the mess, I wasn't expecting guests tonight." Normally, Merlin would have assumed it was a lie, but with the papers strewn over and around the desk, as well as the clothes lying around on the floor, he was tending towards believing him.

With a satisfied hum, Harry had the record player figured out and a song Merlin wasn't too familiar with started playing.

"Dance with me," he requested again once Merlin had shed his coat and hat, "No one around here to embarrass you. Just me, and the best singer in the world."

Hamish raised an eyebrow, then recognised the voice and shook his head with a chuckle, finally giving in to Harry and letting him take his hand.

"Never would have thought you would be an Elton John admirer. More Sinatra, perhaps. Or maybe Elvis," he said as he was pulled close and started to sway along. They didn't bother with proper dancing steps, or conversation, and for a moment all was peaceful. The moon was shining in through the window and making Harry's curls shine with a silver halo, as he closed his eyes and hummed along to the songs playing, and for once Hamish didn't mind dancing. Only when the tunes of a heartbreaking confession of forbidden love started playing, Hamish started tensing, and Harry took that as a sign to stop bothering him, letting him go. He nodded towards the couch, then headed to the small table next to the record player to pour them something to drink before he joined Hamish on the couch.

The conversation was pleasant, if shallow, and the press of lips that followed was as gentle as the tune of piano keys being played by a content lover. For the first time in maybe ever, Hamish didn't fall asleep alone, and something about Harry made this feel so natural and easy that he wondered how he could have ever felt ashamed for wanting another man.

Yet, in the morning, when he woke, he did feel regret. Harry was still there, right next to him, warm and soft with sleep, chest bare, hair an utter mess, chocolate eyes closed peacefully. But Hamish feared the spell would break once he woke, and so he decided to break it first, before Harry had a chance to. He stood from the bed and got dressed as quietly as possible, trying to recall everything that happened last night. Once he was ready to go, he looked back to the man sleeping so peacefully in his bed, looking like an angel despite the sins Hamish knew he'd committed, and he sighed as he once again broke through his walls.

"Thank you, Nikita," he whispered as he pressed a soft kiss to the wild curls, and it was a small joke, a reference to the music of the previous evening, but the truth was that Harry wouldn't ever know what Hamish really felt for him. So he left the suite and headed to the lab, showering in the gym so he could at least pretend he'd been in his own bed last night.

If Harry was disappointed about waking alone, he didn't show it, coming into the meeting room looking fresh and vivid as always, if a bit late. And so they went on with their lives, as if nothing had happened. Hamish grew properly into his role of Merlin and soon everyone was obeying his orders, except for Galahad who seemed to take joy in teasing Merlin all the way through hell and back, though there wasn't a second of hesitation when it really mattered. People started talking of them, the perfect team, the inseparable knight and handler, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle, filling in each other's weaknesses with their strength. Not that they noticed, they were far too busy balancing the thin line between camaraderie and desire, and neither of them cared what others said of them. But with time, Hamish spent more nights in Harry's bed than alone, more than he'd ever dreamt of. Not that it wasn't tearing his heart apart - it was - but the knight's lips were sweet enough to make him forget the shatters of his heart cutting his insides for a few hours, until the sun rose again. It didn't matter if Harry came to his office smelling of a Lady's perfume or just the broom chamber's dust and the new intern's cologne, or drunk, or beaten up, Hamish hardly ever denied him the night.

At night, in Harry's suite, he belonged all to him, and for those precious moments, Hamish let all other things happen. They didn't spend all nights in bed, sometimes they just sat on the couch, music playing and drinks in their hands, and talked until dawn, about everything and nothing, and Hamish felt like sometimes Harry knew him better than he did himself. They never talked about the things they did with other people, but there was nothing to say. Hamish knew what Harry was doing, and Harry almost certainly knew Hamish was doing nothing. It was the way they were, and while Hamish wished he could have him for his own, if only at home, he knew he couldn't take that step and the risk it came with. He would have to be satisfied with the nights they spent together and keeping his secret from Nikita. The painful joke had stuck, and Hamish found himself calling Harry that in his thoughts more often when he didn't think of Galahad but the man behind the mask. He even wrote it in a letter home when asked about friends he made in London.

  
It came to mind especially one night, when Harry returned from Russia, battered and cold, having gotten a little too close to death to really be okay. Nonetheless, his eyes lit up when he saw Merlin standing in the hangar and he would have kissed him right there if not for the pilot and hangar workers, he could see that in the heated gaze those chocolate eyes sent him. It was full of promises, but to Hamish's surprise, Harry was in no rush to fulfil them. They went up to his suite and once Harry had shed the fur coat and Hamish had poured them a drink, Harry pulled a new record from his briefcase.

"What's this?" Hamish asked as he eyed it, frowning at the Cyrillic writing. It was rare to meet an agent in this time who didn't know Russian, but Merlin hadn't bothered, focusing instead on less popular languages. Espionage was a team effort, after all, and what good would it do if everyone knew Russian and no one knew Arabian? So far, it had fared him well, and with Harry's help he was working on an automatic translator to put into the glasses that were in development.

But Harry only grinned and pulled the record from the cover to put on the player, starting it.

"Dance with me," he requested, like he'd done the first night and then never again, and something in the look of Harry's eyes made it impossible for Hamish to say no, so he put the drinks down and gave him his hand, then he was pulled into the knight’s hold once again. He'd almost forgotten how good it felt. They danced to the slow song, Harry singing quietly along in perfect Russian, and this time he didn't close his eyes to float but instead watched Merlin, as if staring at him could make him understand a language completely stranger to him.

He didn't understand, but nonetheless Harry looked satisfied after the song ended, as if he'd gotten something uncomfortable off his chest. If only Hamish had learned Russian, he would have known what it was.

Or maybe he wouldn't, Harry still was an enigma to him despite their many late night talks and honest heart to hearts whenever a mission got a bit too close to failing.

"When I heard the song, I thought of you," Harry whispered against Merlin's lips, then started wandering down his neck.

"What is it about?" He asked, deciding he could admit to Harry that he didn't know Russian, and judging by the pleased hum that came from Harry the man already knew. Maybe he'd counted on it, to tell Merlin a secret he needed off his chest but couldn't bear telling him. Like when Hamish waited for Harry to fall asleep before calling him Nikita.

"About you. And me. It's about us. Just you and me and the dark night," he whispered, and Hamish gave up trying to find out more, letting Harry guide him to the bed instead.

That night, they stayed awake longer than usual, fingers wandering over heated skin as they relished in the victorious triumph of Harry being back alive once again, and when they finally fell asleep, the knight hummed that Russian song again.

They didn't talk about that night or song again, returning to work as always, but still it felt as though something had changed. At first Merlin didn't notice, but eventually he picked up on it and it surprised him. Whenever Harry got into a threatening situation, every time he had to fear for his life - if there was a thing like fear in his heart - every time he laid his life into Merlin's hand and trusted him to get him to safety, he would start humming that song. It was always quiet, and Hamish knew it wasn't for him, it was something Harry did to calm himself down. It puzzled him, frankly, because either Harry had lied about what the song meant to him, or the thought of Merlin in those situations calmed Harry, and both options seemed absolutely bizarre to Merlin.

It wasn't until Harry was uncovered on a high risk mission and dragged to a basement with walls too thick for the glasses' signal to come through, his last words to Merlin being "Dark is the night", that he was sure it had something to do with him. With them. He didn't immediately realise it, he was too preoccupied with sending a rescue team and staying up until he knew Harry's unconscious and mangled but alive body touched British ground. It was when he sat by his bed in the hospital wing, having brought a record player down to play some of Harry's favourites to him while he lay unconscious, that a nurse came in to check on them, pausing as that song that had been only for them was put on. Hamish raised an eyebrow and took in her features, undoubtedly Eastern, before glancing to the record player.

"That's what he always hums," she said, looking between Merlin and the record, then she nodded and smiled, "Now I understand." She wanted to leave again when Hamish stopped her, asking what she meant, and she looked puzzled for a moment before explaining what the song was about. Love, and danger. Feeling safe in the dangerous darkness of the night because you know someone is waiting for you and therefore nothing can happen to you. By the time he thanked and dismissed her, Hamish needed to blink away tears. Oh, his Nikita knew, and he trusted Merlin with his life and heart already.

"I'm sorry, Nikita," he whispered as he leaned in to kiss Harry's forehead like he sometimes did, because it felt like he had disappointed him, betrayed his trust. He didn't bring him home safely this time, only barely alive. But it was enough, it seemed, because a faint smile formed on the sleeping man's face and he spoke up, voice rough.

"What will I never know?" He asked, opening half an eye to look at Merlin, "I trust you with everything, and I don't even know your name."

Merlin chuckled wetly and grasped Harry's hand to kiss his knuckles.

"Hamish. It's Hamish."

"I like that," Harry whispered, voice sounding like it might give out soon, "Hamish and Nikita."

**Author's Note:**

> The songs that inspired me were obviously Elton John's Nikita and "Dark is the Night" famously performed by Mark Bernes, which you can find [here on Youtube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihCqh-QnJZE) (with a translation in the caption), alternatively you can check the [translation on Wikipedia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Is_the_Night_\(Soviet_song\)). 
> 
> If you enjoyed my story, I would be very grateful for kudos and comments, and if you want, you can find me on [my tumblr](https://thrilmalia.tumblr.com/), where I'm also open for requests.


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